The Things Unsaid
by deanplaysguitarforcas
Summary: Dean's Louisiana hunt. Pre-series.
1. Chapter 1

disclaimer: I don't own the _Supernatural _characters or the plot line, just the "Dean's lost episode" idea

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><p>Almost two years. That's how long it had been since that awful, awful fight. Sam and John had screamed horrible things at each other, and Sam walked out. College. Stanford. That must've been where he was now. Probably with friends, maybe even a girlfriend. A normal life.<p>

Dean wondered why he hadn't tried to stop it. And lately, he'd been drifting away from John, insisting on doing some things by himself, not speaking to him sometimes unless he asked Dean a question. John had almost seemed hurt. Dean had been filled with rage when John praised Sam so highly to Jerry when they were on the case. _Sam _wasn't here. He'd had enough. _Dean _was the one still here. John even acted like he hadn't made Sam run away.

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><p>Dean was so fed up with it that he finally took a case by himself, and John actually let him. So he was on his way to some voodoo thing in New Orleans. Far away from John, far away from Sam or anything painful.<p>

The fire couldn't reach him here, nor could the pain of the past.

Dean just drove, his Metallica cassette playing, alone.

Alone and free.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Dean had made it to New Orleans and found a decently priced motel, it was pouring wet. Dean pulled under an overhang and bolted for the front door. He ripped it open, closing the door.

There was a girl reading a magazine at the desk. She looked up as he ran his fingers through his hair, the excess water splashing on the floor and soaking the carpet. "Need a room or just outta the rain?" "Both," he said. She nodded and started tapping the keys. "Uh... Room 1675, here's your key, if you're a serial killer try not to kill any guests, it's really hard to clean up for me. Just give the key back when you're done, you can pay then if you want."

Dean stared. She laughed. "Sorry. We get some weird people in here cause you only have to pay when you leave, no background check, nothing. I guess I just don't mind." "You run this place?" She nodded. "I'm the only one who works here. Self-employed. I'm Hayley, by the way." She really was pretty. "Ah, Dean," he said immediately. No alias hit his mind quick enough. "Dean, huh? Is that your car, Dean?" She pointed at the Impala, visible from the window. He nodded. "Now _that _is a nice car," she said. She handed him the keys. "Enjoy your stay. Hopefully." "Thanks." He took the keys. "Thanks, Hayley," he said. He didn't even have the will to add a pickup line. He was too distracted.

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><p>Dean closed the door to his room, sighing. He wasn't disappointed with the room. Scrubbed floor, clean sheets, no weird stains as far as he could tell. No. He wasn't sure what to do, without John or Sam. <em>Well,<em> he thought, _what would Dad do? _His dad would get down to business. Dean threw his bag on the bed, sighing, and sat down. He ran his fingers through his hair, wondering where Sammy was. If he was happy. If he was smiling. If he had moved on from his family. From John. From Dean.

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><p><strong>hey guys! This story is not done, just to tell you. I'll be posting a new chapter soon. thanks for reading, please review<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**hey guys! new chapter posted! *fist pump* I'm sorry if I got any details inaccurate, I worked hard on this! Enjoy, and please review! **

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><p>It had been a week since Dean had arrived in soaked New Orleans. He sat at some crappy little bar a few blocks from Hayley's motel. He took a slow and steady drink of Jack Daniels. So far, only a few leads. One woman had brutally and slowly died in her home while wearing a voodoo charm bracelet. A man had been electrocuted restarting his computer— and Dean had found a good old fashioned hex bag crammed into the disc drive. So far, he couldn't find any connection, and there were several places that sold voodoo charms. But someone was certainly dedicated if they went to the trouble of making a hex bag to kill a computer programmer with no criminal affiliations.<p>

He slid his empty glass to the bartender. She raised an eyebrow as she scrubbed a glass. "Bad week?"

"What? What do you mean?" She laughed a little. "I mean, this is probably your fourth. Here. This one's on me." She set down the glass she was scrubbed, and turned to the shelf of alcohol. She searched for the bottle. "Hayley! When I said you could have it, I meant give it back!" She shouted at a back table.

"Okay, fine! Picky, picky, Laura." Hayley came around the bar, handing it to the brunette bartender, Laura. She waved at Dean with two fingers.

"You two know each other?" Laura asked. "Yep," Hayley answered. She played with a strand of her coal-dark hair, then moved around the bar to Dean.

"Hey," she said, dropping onto the stool beside him. "You mind if I have a drink?" Dean shook his head. "Nah." He didn't know why, but he didn't even feel like flirting, not even with a pretty girl like Hayley.

Right now, his mind was on Sam. Even if he was supposed to be researching just like his dad taught him to, he was procrastinating extremely. Mostly because research reminded him of his smart and smart-ass little brother. Sometimes he just wished the phone would ring one day and it would be his brother, so excited to talk to him, apologizing for walking out on him, and would talk so quickly about his new life that the words would blur together in one huge smudge of excitement.

He chewed his lip, biting so hard the rusty taste of blood rose in his mouth. Hayley was looking at him. She downed her glass in one gulp. Hayley wiped her mouth with her arm. "So, what brings you down here? Really, I mean."

Dean was sick of lies but he knew he couldn't tell her the truth. "I'm looking for someone," he answered. "I'd hoped they'd be here, but..." Hayley nodded. He looked in her eyes. She didn't pity him, he saw. She just knew the feeling. "Huh. Couple years back, that was me. I ran. Thought my mom was down here. I never found her. Guess I just started something for runners. I mean, not that you're a runner, I just—" "It's fine," he replied firmly, cutting her off. "I s'pose in some ways, I am running."

Hayley blinked slowly. Her deep green eyes had no idea what he'd been through. None. Not his mom dying, not how he was raised, not his brother, nothing. And for once he wanted to tell someone. He wanted to say it so bad, to spill his guts, and John wasn't here to stop him. But the words wouldn't climb up his throat, refused to part his lips even an inch, but hung in the air like a dark cloud.

Hayley pursed her lips. "I was wrong to run, I think," she said slowly. "I didn't see another way out. My dad planned out my whole life, you know? And I just got angrier and angrier until I just snapped. But I think I've got a better life here. More choices. Ability to spill my guts to one of my guests who I barely even know."

Dean wanted to smile at that, but he only allowed the edges of his mouth to prick up. Hayley watched him. Her eyes burned into him, leaving a blistering memory, and he was sure he'd never forget her cutting gaze.


	4. Chapter 4

**hello! great day of looking at au's and I remembered I have to write! please enjoy, and pretty please review, I'd appreciate the feedback. Please mention if I should add more of the hunt into my chapters. I know I haven't been super focused on the hunt, but I'd like to know if I should put the hunt in sooner. Prepare for a probably fifteen chapter story! Party on, Garth. (Ps I don't own anything and this is rated T for language and later violence)**

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><p><em>Dean sighed, <em>rubbing his eyes. He'd been combing through every website for any voodoo shop in New Orleans. Nothing. Okay, well, not every, he admitted to himself, but a shit ton, that was for sure. The library was supposed to close four hours ago.

Yet here he was, with a battered old computer, and the ability to Google. He closed his eyes, the light of the computer illuminating his face. Probably no sleep tonight. Dean took a deep breath, wondering when this hunt would be over.

He knew at least another week. He'd only been in New Orleans for eight days. Dean wondered if maybe, after he wrapped this up, he could sneak off and go talk to Sam. Not that his dad didn't let him, he just wanted his dad to see he was fine on his own. Really. He was twenty-six, not five.

For the billionth time since Sam left, Dean wondered what it was like for him. Did Sam even miss them? Dean angrily shoved this thought to the back of his mind. Then his phone rang. He checked the ID. It was his dad.

Dean really didn't feel like talking to John. He knew John was probably keeping super-close tabs on him, and he hated that. But he knew he had to pick up, or else his dad would probably burst into town, guns blazing, before Dean could call him back.

Yep. He'd definitely do that. But Dean let it ring five more times before he picked up.

"Hello?"

"Dean? What took so long?" Dean bit his already-raw lip, mashing his teeth in his soft lip skin hard.

"I was working," he answered, hoping his anger didn't show in his voice. "Something up, Dad?"

"Nah. Just checking in. I think I've got a case, here, son. But I gotta get some more evidence. How's your case going?"

Dean tried to steel his temper. "I think I've got a lead."

"Got a big steaming pile of nothing, huh?" Dean sighed, letting a stream of breath escape from his mouth, long and smooth. "So how's your case, Dad?"

"Well, I think this might be a good one. I'm heading up to Jericho, California tomorrow, son. Hope your hunt goes well."

"Thanks, Dad. Talk to you later." Dean hung up, rage simmering in his stomach. "Hope your hunt goes well"? Like that totally wasn't "You better do a damn good job or you're in huge trouble". Dean slammed the phone down, allowing his anger to boil, until he thought it would overflow and drown him in a steaming tide.


	5. Chapter 5

_Dean was back _in his room the next day, with a bitch of a hangover. He must've drank more than he remembered. He leafed through the newspaper while his craphole of a computer fired up. He'd have to replace it soon.

Damn, he'd be done if Sammy was here already. As soon as he thought that, he instantly reprimanded himself. _Sam's busy. He didn't want to go hunting anymore. So what? He's been coming up every day in your head for two years. If you're so worried about him, go talk to him. _

He shoved that away, too. He didn't need this shit now. He needed to focus on this hunt. Or it would be, if he knew what to hunt.

Dean stared hard at the computer screen, like he was trying to make it start up quicker with telepathy or telekinesis or some crap.

There had to be _something_ connecting the victims, right? At this point, Dean was willing to take anything as a connection.

He went to a newspaper's website. There were a few around here, but this one was closest to the part of town where most of them lived.

Dean typed in the names of a few of the dead people in the keyword box.

He waited, and waited...

Until a window popped up.

With a list of the names of the vics.

And some still living.

And Dean knew exactly what he was hunting now.


	6. Chapter 7

_Dean reeled, _nearly falling out of his chair. _Shit. _Some big community project, with the names of the members. Trying to "clean up" the voodoo business, from what he could tell as he frantically skimmed the article. There was some big scandal-esque article, where one of the stores they'd been trying to close was burned down. A charm maker had died inside. Dean was willing to bet the $6 in his pocket that she had been a witch, too. He needed to call Sam. Dean reached for his phone before a little voice reminded him, _Winchester, you idiot. Sam's at college. He doesn't care. Let him be happy._

_But this is big! Who's ever heard of a ghost witch crossover? Sammy's got to know what to do! _The little voice wasn't impressed.

_So what? You promised yourself you'd leave him alone. _

_But he's my brother._

_So?_

Dean cleared his history and shut off the old computer. He grabbed his leather jacket off the back of the chair and disappeared out the door of the library.

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><p>When he arrived back at the motel, Hayley was dozing on the front desk, but she woke up when the door opened as Dean decided to check on her on instinct.<p>

"Hey. You're out late."

"Yep." Hayley yawned and stretched, blowing her charcoal hair out of her face in a completely cute way.

"You're a night owl type of man, huh?"

"I guess." Hayley tapped her chin playfully, studying him like she was pretending to be Sherlock Holmes.

"Or are you more of a loner type of man?"

"What? Oh, no. God, no."

"Ahh. Intriguing. And yet you came alone here."

"I told you. Looking for someone."

"A specific someone, or just someone?" she asked. This was a totally awesome moment to ask her out. Totally awesome. And Dean Winchester did _not _deny opportunity when it came knocking on his front door.

"Want me to tell you over a drink?" A smile burst across Hayley's ivory face, and she leaned forward.

"Dinner," she said. "But I will take that drink."

"Deal," he said, actually grinning at her, flashing an almost classic, white-toothed, Dean Winchester smile.

"At that bar I had a drink with you at. They make one hell of a cheeseburger. And gumbo, if you're into that. Stereotyped, but good."

"Cheeseburger."

"How romantic," she replied sarcastically, but she was still smiling. "You are definitely a mystery wrapped in an enigma in a hot burrito, Dean."

"I hear that a lot," he answered with a smirk, putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "Well, the hot part." Hayley laughed.

"I don't doubt it. 'Night," she called as he moved to leave.

"'Night, Hayley." He disappeared out the door and reached in his pockets for his motel key. He unlocked the door of his room, stepped in, locked it behind him, and flopped down on the bed, grinning into the cold pillow. Hell yes. Dean Winchester was back in the game.


End file.
